“I know, Hettie, but don’t say so. You know it upsets Mama and she has been very depressed lately.”
“It’s not surprising,” Marie-Henriette replied. “With no money and what one might call the ‘hostilities’ coming from the Palace all the time, I only wish we could go somewhere else.”
“There is no answer to that,” Laetitia sighed, “so we just have to put up with it.”
She laid down the gown she was trying to alter as she spoke and walked to the window to look out onto the courtyard.
Just a short distance from the Palace there were a number of small attractive houses centred round a courtyard.
These were the Grace and Favour houses which were allotted to the Grand Duke’s relatives and Statesmen who had served their country if they were too poor to afford a house of their own.
When Prince Paul of Ovenstadt was killed fighting with his Regiment against an invading army of another country, which was quickly repelled, his family had to leave their home, an attractive house in which they had lived in comfort, and move into a small and rather cramped Grace and Favour house for which they were, however, very grateful.
But what the two Princesses and their brother when he was not with his Regiment, minded was what Marie-Henriette had called the ‘hostilities’ coming from the Palace.
This was not due to the Grand Duke, who had been extremely fond of his cousin Prince Paul, but to the Grand Duchess.
Since the Grand Duke Louis had had an elder brother he had not expected to inherit the throne and he and Prince Paul were brought up together and had always sworn that they would never marry.
However, what happened was that first Prince Paul fell head-over-heels in love with the very beautiful daughter of a Nobleman with Royal blood in his veins, who lived on the other side of the country.
Because the Prince was a comparatively unimportant member of the hierarchy, after some feeble opposition, he was allowed to marry the girl of his choice, the only real protests coming from his cousin Louis who felt companionless and alone for the first time in his life.
Six months later his elder brother died of a fever which the doctors could not diagnose and, as soon as Louis became the Crown Prince, pressure was brought on him to marry.
Unfortunately, because he was a charming and courteous man, he was pressurised into taking as his wife a Prussian Princess who undoubtedly brought some benefits to the country over which she was to reign, but immediately became the dominating partner of their marriage.
As the years passed and she became the Grand Duchess, she asserted her authority to the point where there were numerous jokes both inside and outside Ovenstadt as to ‘who wore the trousers’. They had two children, a son Otto who was spoilt from the moment he was born and became almost as obnoxious as his mother – and a daughter Stephanie who was exactly like her father and therefore loved by everybody who knew her.
Because the Grand Duchess had to have everything her own way and was possessive, acquisitive and extremely jealous, she disliked not only Prince Paul’s lovely wife, Olga, but also her children.
This was not surprising when it was obvious to everybody that Laetitia and Marie-Henriette were becoming more and more beautiful every day.
What was more, their brother, Prince Kyril, was immeasurably better-looking, more intelligent and certainly a better sportsman than the Crown Prince Otto.
The girls in the Grace and Favour house were snubbed by the Grand Duchess on every possible occasion and she made it palpably clear that they were not welcome at the Palace.
She had to invite them on State occasions simply because their father Prince Paul, had been so popular with the Statesmen, the Officials and the people of Ovenstadt that she dare not leave them out.
But, as Laetitia often said, she would have done so if she could.
The two girls, however, often wondered when they were alone what would become of them in the future.
“One thing that is quite obvious,” Laetitia said a dozen times, “is that there is no chance of anybody finding husbands for us until Stephanie has one!”
She paused and went on reflectively,
“Even then I think Cousin Augustina will make every excuse to keep us out of sight of any eligible bachelors unless, of course, there is a chance of one taking us away from Ovenstadt for ever.”
Laetitia did not talk bitterly, but merely as if she was stating a fact.
She usually found it easier to laugh than to cry about it.
At the same time, now that she was eighteen, she resented that there was not enough money for herself and Marie-Henriette, who was sixteen months younger to have pretty gowns and her mother had to scrimp and pinch even to feed them properly.
“How angry it would make Papa!” she would say when they were deliberately excluded from some party at the Palace that they should have been invited to.
She said the same when it was impossible to make the very little money they had go any further and they were unable to offer hospitality to those who invited them to their homes.
Her mother had sighed the last time she had said it to her.
“I know, darling, but I suppose it’s a cross we have to bear.”
“I cannot think why,” Laetitia replied argumentatively. “Papa died for his country and we, apparently, quite unjustly, are being punished for it.”
For a moment Princess Olga sat thinking.
Then she said,
“I know it is tiresome for you, darling, but at the same time, I would not wish to live in the Palace, however comfortable it might be.”
Both Laetitia and Marie-Henriette gave little screams of protest.
Then they were all laughing.
“Can you imagine what it would be like,” Laetitia asked, “with Cousin Augustina coming down to breakfast and starting by telling us we were too early or too late, our hair was untidy, our gowns were incorrectly buttoned and what was more our faces were all wrong?”
“Whatever we do is wrong to her,” Marie-Henriette agreed.
“That is enough, girls!” Princess Olga interrupted. “Whatever we feel about Cousin Augustina, Cousin Louis is very fond of us.”
“That is true,” Laetitia said. “Equally he is too weak to do anything about the way his wife behaves. What a pity it is that Papa’s father did not come to the throne!”
“I suppose second sons since the beginning of time have always complained at not being the oldest,” Princess Olga replied, “but Papa did not mind. He did not wish to be the Grand Duke. He just wanted to enjoy life and be happy with all of us.”
The Princess always looked sad as she spoke of her husband and now on her lovely face there was an expression that made the girls hastily start talking of something else.
They adored their mother and it seemed a perverse cruelty on the part of Fate that their father should have been killed when he was so happily married, while his cousin Louis was stuck for ever with a woman whom, if the truth was known, he actively disliked.
The Grand Duke had therefore withdrawn from a great deal of public life, leaving the Grand Duchess to make decisions for him, to receive Statesmen on his behalf and push him deliberately more and more into the background.
Sometimes when it seemed as if he could bear it no longer he would call at the Grace and Favour house to see Princess Olga.
He would sit in the small sitting room, which was so unlike the huge salons of the Palace, telling her of his troubles.
“I know how much you miss Paul,” he had said the last time he called, “and I too find myself missing him more every day. If he was here, I know that he would help me and prevent me from being so ineffective.”
“You must not talk like that, Louis,” Princess Olga had said in her soft voice. “The people love you.”
“When they get a chance to see me,” the Grand Duke replied, “and I know I am blamed for a lot of laws that were not of my making.”
He paused before he added,
“I suppose you
are aware, as everybody else is, that the new Prime Minister is in Augustina’s pocket?”
Princess Olga did not reply. She merely inclined her head and the Grand Duke went on,
“He calls on her every day and does not pay me the courtesy of even pretending to consult me. He shows the State papers first of all to my wife and then, when they have decided what to do, they ask me for my signature on them.”
“Why do you not refuse?” Princess Olga enquired.
“Because I am not man enough to stand up to a scene,” the Grand Duke answered, “and that is where I miss Paul. He always fought my battles for me and without him I am like a man who has lost the use of his right arm. I feel it is not worth making the effort alone and unsupported.”
Princess Olga sighed and then she reached out and put her hand in his.
“I think, Louis dear, you should try.”
“To do what?” he asked. “You know as well as I do that Augustina has taken everything into her own hands. It is she who rules the country and, if I rebelled against her decisions, I should doubtless soon find myself certified as a lunatic or imprisoned in one of the dungeons!”
They both laughed.
At the same time there was, Princess Olga thought sadly, a great deal of truth in what the Grand Duke was saying.
She was quite sure that the Grand Duchess would be utterly ruthless if anybody tried to topple her from the seat of power.
When the Grand Duke left, she had merely prayed that somehow by some miracle he would be saved from what she realised was a life of misery that was almost approaching despair.
Sometimes she thought of appealing to him on behalf of the girl and suggesting that now Laetitia was eighteen a ball should be given for her at the Palace which would give her a chance to meet eligible young Princes from neighbouring countries or at least some of the noble families whom the Grand Duchess seldom invited to the Court.
But she knew that even if the Grand Duke agreed, his wife would be violently opposed to the idea and he would not have the strength to insist on the ball being given.
When she told Laetitia what she thought, her daughter had said,
“You are quite right, Mama. I am quite certain that Cousin Louis would be overruled and nothing would be done. But sooner or later somebody will have to stand up to her, although it cannot be you.”
“If only your father were here,” Princess Olga had sighed.
Then they were both aware that the conversation had gone full circle and nothing would be done about it.
Now standing at the window Laetitia said with her back to her sister,
“I think rather than being faint-hearted because we cannot obtain the things we want, we should perhaps try witchcraft!”
“Witchcraft?” Marie-Henriette exclaimed. “We don’t know any witches.”
“Gypsies can do magic,” Laetitia replied.
“They have little chance to do it here,” Marie-Henriette said. “You know Cousin Augustina has banned them from the Capital and told them to keep to the fields and mountains unless they wish to be expelled altogether from Ovenstadt.”
“That is the kind of thing she would do!” Laetitia answered. “It will only make the people hate her more than they do already. After all there is gypsy blood in a great number of Ovenstadts including us.”
Marie-Henriette laughed.
“You had better not let Cousin Augustina hear you talk about gypsy blood or you will be sent away in case you contaminate her!”
“I have always been told that Prussians hate the gypsies,” Laetitia said reflectively, “but to us they are part of our life and the country would not be the same without them.”
She was thinking, as she talked, of the colourful bands of gypsies who roamed in the valleys and the music which always stirred her heart whenever she heard it and made her long to start dancing.
Her father had told her how when he was young he and his Cousin Louis would often join the gypsies around their campfires and listen to the glorious wild melodies they played on their violins.
They would also watch the young gypsy girls dancing with a grace that was characteristic of their race.
“It is a grace you possess yourself, my darling,” he had said to Laetitia when she was thirteen.
“How exciting, Papa! Are you quite sure I have it?”
“Quite sure,” her father had answered. “Just as I am sure that when you grow older you will be very beautiful and I shall be very proud of you!”
Stories of gypsy life had always intrigued Laetitia even though she knew that it was something she dare not mention at the Palace.
There was an intriguing tale that far back in the history of the family their great-great-great-grandfather, who was Grand Duke, married twice but there were no children of either marriage.
His second wife was very much younger than he was and, as he grew older, he became frantic to have an heir.
If he did not do so, the succession would pass from the family of Rákónzi to which they all belonged to a family they all disliked and which had over the years become lazy, debauched and in consequence most unsuited to rule.
The Grand Duke had therefore taken his wife to physicians all over Europe and to healing spas and finally as a last resort had sought the help of the gypsies.
The legend, which was afterwards always told in whispers, recounted that, because the Grand Duke was unwell at the time the Grand Duchess had gone alone to the camp of the most important tribe in the whole country.
She had been welcomed by their Voivode or King who was young, dark and very handsome.
She had taken part in a feast at which the gypsies filled their most prized possession of jewelled goblets with the rarest wine the vineyards could produce.
After they had feasted, there had been music and dancing round the campfire.
Very late when the violins were still playing and a number of the older gypsies had fallen asleep, the King had taken the Grand Duchess away into the woods.
There under the stars he had used on her the magic which would ensure an heir to the throne.
It was a very romantic story and Prince Paul had finished by saying,
“The majority of Rákónzis are red-headed or fair-skinned, but occasionally one of us is born with dark hair, dark eyes and a fair skin like yours, my precious.”
Laetitia had given a little cry of delight.
“And that, Papa, is the magic the gypsies gave the Grand Duchess!”
“Look in the mirror,” her father said, “and you will see that your hair has the blue lights that all brunettes long to have.”
He smile affectionately as he went on,
“While your lashes are also dark, my dearest, your eyes are as green as the Steppes over which the gypsies roam and your white skin which feels like a magnolia petal, is an inheritance of my family and your mother’s.”
It was true, Laetitia found when she thought about herself that she did look different from the other members of the Rákónzi family.
She had really never thought about it before and had taken it for granted that she should be a brunette while Marie-Henriette was a blonde like her mother.
But while her hair was as golden as the sunshine, there was something in the darkness of her eyes that was not quite as one would have expected.
Laetitia thought that there was some small characteristic of the gypsies to be found in the Grand Duke.
The story was to all three of Prince Paul’s children very exciting and romantic, but when the Grand Duchess assumed power she would not have it mentioned.
“Legends of that sort,” she remarked firmly, “are always lies thought up by primitive, uncivilised people because they have nothing else to think about.”
She paused to say more positively,
“I have gone carefully into the family tree and I assure you that there is not one word of truth in the story that there is gypsy blood in the Rákónzis.”
She waited to see if anybody contra
dicted her, but they thought it wiser not to do so and she continued,
“I have even found in the history of the family that the Grand Duchess, who was responsible for all this nonsense was treated by a very able physician in France, which ensured her having a child who later became the Grand Duke.”
She paused before she added finally,
“So that tale is not to be repeated again by anybody in this family!”
Laetitia said nothing, but, when she returned home, she looked at herself in the mirror and knew that her hair was different from that of other girls who were simply dark instead of being fair.
She remembered too how her father had said that her gracefulness came from the gypsies.
When she was alone, she would dance and found that her body was supple enough to make the turns, the twists and the double-jointed movements of the gypsies.
She could also spring as they could do into the air, leap over a lighted fire and appear almost as if they flew from the ground in a magical way of their own.
Because she was determined to know more about the life of the gypsies whenever she was out riding away from the Palace and therefore felt free of her cousin’s restrictions, she would stop and talk to any of the tribes she met as they wandered through the flower-filled valleys or climbed up the sides of the mountains.
Because they knew who she was and felt honoured by her presence, they would not only talk to her and answer some of the questions she asked, but they also taught her some of their Romany words.
Because she had a retentive memory, she soon had a quite large vocabulary.
She found, as she had expected, that they knew the legend of the Rákónzi gypsy ancestor and that they admired her dark hair because they believed, as she did, that it was inherited from them.
Because the Grand Duchess hated the gypsies this last year she had taken to persecuting them whenever she had the chance.
She banished them further and further away from the Capital so that Laetitia found it more difficult to locate them than in the past.
“How can Cousin Augustina be so cruel!” she had asked her mother angrily when it was reported in the newspapers that two gypsies accused of crimes of which they swore their innocence had been executed.
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